Why Nothing Happening Makes Me Happy

"Because of the dark times that once felt like too much, an ordinary day is magnified, and it doesn't get any better than this."

The second essay in our first print issue also comes from Kim Hyun-a. If 〈Gear for Rigging Romance〉 (낭만 조작 아이템) was about tools, this one is about time. The middle of a holiday where nothing much happens, and a drive back from a temple with her mother. In that ordinary scene, she finds the calm balance that light and shadow make together.

A Quiet First Day of Chuseok

My older sister used to carry the full weight of being the eldest every holiday. Since she married and moved out, I, the one daughter left at home, keep busy filling the empty spot. One look at how much food Mom has laid out tells me how much quieter this year's Chuseok will be.

"I cut it down even more this time. Just the skewers, the shrimp and the scallion pancake."

Her instructions given, Mom hurries off. While I grill the beef skewers, she blanches the greens. While I fry the shrimp, she makes the soup, and by the time I am on the last scallion pancake, she is already cleaning up. A perfect division of labor. Mother and daughter knock out everything in under two hours.

As the two of us, worn out, make iced coffee, Dad grumbles at us. "What'd you go and make so much for? Don't make any more."

Honestly, I like holidays the way they are now better than the old ones, when we were frantic over all the cooking. Watching Dad toss out a line and go back to the TV, and Mom drinking her coffee at ease, I don't think I'm the only one who likes how unfussy it has become.

Calm Days Where Nothing Happens

Maybe it is just my nature, maybe it is age, maybe it is the storms I have weathered in my own way. At some point I started wishing for calm days where nothing happens.

These quiet everyday moments, too many to list, are so precious that I feel happy in every one of them.

Getting up without feeling worn out and starting the morning with a fresh cup of coffee. Cleaning on a sunny day with the windows thrown open. Reading at a café near home in the quietest hour and getting a silly message from a friend. Even watching my niece being adorable on the family video call that comes once a day.

The same goes for right now, frying three modest kinds of jeon and settling into a quiet Chuseok. The heat pushing in through the door we left open for the oil smell, the summer smell that still hasn't gone, the sound of the fan turning slowly. Nobody says a word, but I can feel that everyone is at ease.

A Drive, and a Temple

"Want to go for a spin up there?" Mom asked, breaking a short silence. I think she was a little worried her younger daughter might be bored.

For a few years now, whenever my head was full and I felt anxious, I have gone to temples looking for calm. After that I also started walking to a temple near home, because I liked the particular quiet of a place that lives alongside nature. I think it was a small private charm of mine, a way of wishing for calm days.

Mom, who knows every road in the neighborhood, took the wheel. We traded a few words about how hot it was for Chuseok, and we were already there. A handful of people who had come for some good energy were making their way around the grounds, bowing, and we quietly followed. A monk's voice chanting a sutra. The smell of earth and grass with every breath, deep in my chest.

With a calm mind, I widened my view and looked ahead. Above the tall trees all around, a white, blue and red sky wrapped the world. A pale sunset seemed to announce the start of early evening.

Under a Red Sky

We didn't stay at the temple long. We made a small wish in front of the large Buddha statue set close to nature and soon came back down. Without asking each other what we had wished for, we headed for the car, saying we should take a quick spin before going home.

From the foot of the mountain to the moment we turned onto a bleak main road, we traded small talk and enjoyed a comfortable silence. At some point the buildings blocking the window disappeared and a river appeared. I had been fiddling with my phone, and I turned my head to look outside. The pale sunset that had marked early evening had already turned deep, and the sky was red.

Red stands for passion. Or fear, or love. It is clearly an active color, yet a sunset is very calm. Some days the sunset is so red it is almost frightening, and that only makes it more silently beautiful.

Under a sunset that is starting to fade away, Mom's car keeps going. Inside, I keep my eyes moving to hold on to what is left of the sunset. Tomorrow the second day of Chuseok begins. We'll put a spoonful of rice into the long-simmered soup with the few jeon we have, have a cup of coffee for dessert, and trade a few silly words.

Thinking of a quiet day where nothing much happens, I felt happier than I could say.

What You'll Find in the Magazine

The essay's most decisive insight, Kim Hyun-a's answer to why the balance of light and shadow steadies our minds, is one we hope you will read in the magazine itself.

• ● The balance of opposites: her full reflection on sunsets and shadows
• ● A short confession about hard, dark times and ordinary days
• ● Another essay by Kim Hyun-a, 〈Gear for Rigging Romance〉